


In The Morning

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Slash, Rating: PG13, post canon Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:44:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin doesn't want to just be Gwen's replacement.<br/>I'm a fan of post!abandonment H/C Arthur/Merlin fic, but sometimes I think sex isn't the first place they'd go. I wanted to try writing a short fic where I had a real dig at what Arthur might be feeling about Gwen and about Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thuri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/gifts).



> This has been completed for my dear friend [Thuri](archiveofourown.org/users/Thuri/) who demanded I finish it after I asked her for help.  
> Read over by [Arrie](http://tobeyoungandinbrolin.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.

Arthur couldn’t shake the image of her leaving; Guinevere. Her sad smile, her eyes shadowed with relief, the swish of her cape as she turned away. Her hand clasped in another’s; Lancelot. They stood together with such ease, such belonging, as Arthur had never known for himself. He hadn’t given her that, although he’d tried.

At first, he’d been all justice and honour and idealism, and she’d fallen for him. Later, he’d been just the same-- all idealism and honour and justice, but she’d felt pushed away. Then, there’d been Lancelot. There had  _always_ been Lancelot.

Their goodness and their smiles and their blushes fit together like puzzle pieces. They were both so warm and dark and beautiful, but Arthur? He was fair and cold. Unable to express his feelings, unwilling to let her in. He was too far away, too guarded.

“But I’m the  _king_ , I  _have_  to have a lot of guards,” Arthur told Merlin, sad and alone and pathetic, mere hours later. Arthur was trying to forgive himself the whine in his voice; the weak, jealous ache in his heart, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He knew he should be better than this.

“I don’t really think that’s what she meant, sire.”

Merlin buzzed behind Arthur, following his gaze out of the window as the sun set across the kingdom. He bounced on the balls of his feet and Arthur could see him moving his hand distractedly-- wanting to touch, to comfort, but not knowing how.

Arthur didn’t know if he wanted anyone to touch him. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. The cold touch of metal beneath his fingers made him start. His crown was cold and hard, fashioned from gold and encrusted with gems. It was a symbol of his birthright, of his power, of his entire  _life_  and everything it’d lead up to... And it was all he had left.

Carefully, Arthur ran his fingers along the circlet. He brushed over it, all around his head, with his eyes still squeezed shut. Days ago, he’d been telling Guinevere how he felt as though he felt he’d finally grown to fit it. This was no longer his father’s crown, something he had to honour and live up to-- no, this was  _his_  crown. This was the code by which he ran  _his_  kingdom and the ideals by which he led  _his_  life.

That night, she’d told him about Lancelot.

As Arthur breathed deeply, still running his fingers lightly along the gold, he met something foreign. Something warm and gentle moved Arthur’s hand down to his side and lifted the crown from his head. It was Merlin.

He placed Arthur’s crown on the table with a dull thunk. Neither of them flinched as the silence was broken, and neither looked over at the circlet again.

A soft, slow rhythm of steps signalled Merlin pacing back across the flagstone floor. Arthur could hear Merlin’s breath at his shoulder and he sensed the warmth of a body behind him, before strong fingers spread out across the back of Arthur’s tunic. He shuddered and leaned back into the touch.

Without a word, Merlin began rubbing some of the tension and pain and loss from Arthur’s muscles. He’d been Arthur’s manservant for five years, but massages were a rarity. The upheaval of any given situation could usually be determined by the readiness with which Merlin kneaded away at Arthur’s back.

Despite Merlin’s clumsiness in every other aspect of life, he had magic fingers. They always sought out the worst knots in Arthur’s muscles, undoing them with ease. It never hurt too much, it never tickled, it was always just right-- just what he needed.

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur sighed into the relaxing pressure of the touch. “Did I do the right thing?”

Merlin’s fingers dropped away from Arthur’s muscles, which meant he’d said something wrong; he seemed to be doing that a lot. With another sigh, Arthur’s eyelids pulled apart. Merlin had moved to stand in front of him, blocking the view from the window. He’d stopped bouncing on the balls of his feet. Everything was still and quiet as they stared at each other.

Merlin drew in a breath to speak, and it sounded sticky somehow, as if he were holding back a tear. “Of course you did. You’re a good king, Arthur. She couldn’t help who she fell in love with-- believe me.”

The look Merlin gave Arthur was a strange one, as though he was considering how much anger and jealousy Arthur was really capable of. Could he ever have locked Guinevere up, or fought Lancelot? Blue eyes raked up and down Arthur, taking him in from his blond head, so noticeably devoid of a crown, to his freshly polished boots. No, he couldn’t. They were his friends, no matter what.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Arthur whispered, finding his own throat dry and sticky, too, although he told himself that those  _weren’t_  tears burning at the back of his eyes. “I mean, did I do the right thing  _marrying_  her? I saw them together once in Mercia, but I thought...”

A weak smile spread across Merlin’s face as Arthur’s voice dwindled into silence. He knew Merlin wanted to be there for him --when it counted, he always was-- but he could see pity in Merlin’s eyes. He didn’t want anyone’s _pity_ , because he was a Pendragon, a king, and kings were never to be pitied. The only person Arthur had ever really shown his insecurities to was Gwen, and she’d never  _pitied_  him. She’d rubbed his arm and told him that the people believed in him.

Sometimes, Arthur really needed to hear that.

As he stared at Merlin, wishing that just this once, they could read each other’s minds, Arthur felt something building inside him. It bubbled in his chest, rising up his throat until he couldn’t breathe. A tear slipped between his lashes, running down his cheek, and he gasped out a laugh, sniffing loudly.

Arthur blinked, his eyes streaming with tears, and suddenly Merlin’s hands were there on his cheeks. They wiped away the wet trails, and as much as Arthur wanted to push Merlin off, suck in a deep breath and go out for an evening ride, he just couldn’t. He grinned again, laughing at himself. So many things had failed to make him cry, but this? This succeeded with flying colours.

Merlin’s smile grew too and the pity disappeared from his eyes. He looked at Arthur in that way that said  _you prat_ and his arms dropped to his sides again. Arthur missed their touch more that he’d ever have expected. He glanced down at them, then back up into Merlin’s face, opening his arms out as if to beckon Merlin forward.

They hugged. Arthur tucked his head in tight beside Merlin’s, feeling the soft tickle of dark hair against his cheek. Thin, light arms wrapped around Arthur’s shoulders and neck as his own hands met at the crook of Merlin’s back-- he really did have a  _tiny_  waist.

This was something else Arthur had only ever done with Guinevere. She’d always rested her head on his chest and squeezed, but with Merlin, it was different. He didn’t tug at Arthur or press him in close, he was just a warm, comforting presence. 

Arthur sucked in a shaky breath, trying to hold back any more tears. He turned his face into Merlin’s neck, tightening his grip. He didn’t want anything else to slip through his fingers.

Merlin chuckled softly and Arthur felt the press of a nose against his neck, too. One of Merlin’s hands crept up into Arthur’s hair, cradling the back of his head and pulling him a little closer.

“You followed your heart, Arthur,” Merlin whispered against his skin. “I wish I could do something as brave as what you did by marrying Gwen.”

Any tension that had still been in Arthur’s back dissolved at that. He slumped into Merlin, putting all his effort into not letting himself break out into sobs. The feeling of Merlin’s lips against Arthur’s skin was unusual and familiar all at once, but it only lasted a second. Merlin let go and pulled back, the ghost of a grin still on his face.

“Come on,” Merlin mumbled, tilting his head in the direction the the bed. “I know you said you didn’t want dinner, but you need sleep.”

Arthur obeyed without argument. He traipsed over to his bed, so large and empty and cold, and slumped down on the edge. Merlin followed him, sinking to his knees and pulling Arthur’s boots off for him-- not one of his usual duties, but something that’d become a bit of a tradition over the past few days, when Arthur had felt too deflated and defeated to do anything for himself.

After pulling back the blankets, Arthur slid into bed and watched Merlin bustle around the room. Since Arthur had married Guinevere, Merlin had found himself with less and less cause to be in the royal chambers. The Queen had once been a maid, after all, and she liked to keep things tidy herself. She’d never have allowed Merlin to clean up after her.

That was the beauty of Gwen, she was awfully stubborn in her sweetness.

When Merlin began blowing out the candles, Arthur realised something; he’d  _missed_  Merlin. He was grateful for him being there. He’d returned to his old duties the morning after Guinevere had made her announcement, and Arthur didn’t want him to ever leave again. The past few nights alone had been unbearable, but Merlin had an uncanny ability to talk until who ever listened forgot their problems. Arthur’s room had been without mindless chatter for far too long.

“Merlin, wait,” Arthur called as Merlin made for the door, and although it was quiet, he was surprised Merlin heard him. Arthur’s eyelids were beginning to droop and he was sure sleep had slurred his words a little.

“Yes?” It was probably the first time Merlin had been called back at the end of an evening without reeling off a string of complaints.

“Would you stay?” Arthur asked, as quickly as possible. The whole thing was embarrassing enough already. “Please? It’s just cold and quiet and...”

Merlin’s smile made Arthur trail off again. It was all warmth and understanding. Without a word, he bolted the door, pulled off his boots and climbed onto the bed to sit beside Arthur.

“I meant in a chair,” Arthur huffed, rolling onto his side so that his back was facing Merlin.

“If you think I’m sitting in one of those uncomfortable things for hours, you’re a prat.”

Arthur smiled into his blankets. At least Merlin was still being his old, disrespectful self. It was an anchor he knew he could rely on. The court would talk behind his back; the knights would be quiet and awkward for months, but Merlin would never treat Arthur any differently. Nothing could make Merlin change.

“Thanks, Merlin,” Arthur muttered into his bed, more to himself than anything else.

“For what?” There was that sound of a grin in Merlin’s voice again.

Arthur rolled over, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking blearily up at Merlin. “For always being my idiot... And not letting, oh, I don’t know, the fact I’m  _king_  get in the way of insulting me.”

Merlin snorted with laughter-- genuine this time, not sad or sympathetic.

“It’s kept me honest,” Arthur added. He could tell Merlin was unsure just how serious (or sleep-deprived) he was, and honestly, Arthur wasn’t quite sure himself. This didn’t sound like the kind of thing  _he_  would say.

“Any time,” Merlin smiled, looking down at him, bemused.

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows. “I mean it, Merlin.”

“Well, if you’re hoping I’ll thank you for all those times you made me muck out the stables, think again,” Merlin grinned. There was a hint of a laugh in his tone, but something wasn’t right.

The joke fell flat. Arthur stared into Merlin’s eyes and saw they were moist with tears. Merlin quickly looked away from Arthur. He took to staring at his hands and picking at the hem of his jacket.

Arthur watched him for several seconds longer, until Merlin sucked in a particularly snotty breath and it became clear he was close to crying.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked at once. He pushed himself up and sat beside Merlin, leaning forward to stare intently into his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” Merlin nodded at once, but a tear slid down his cheek.

With a quiet sigh, Arthur reached over to wipe away Merlin’s tear, just like Merlin had done for him a little earlier.

“What is it?” Arthur kept his voice low.

“Nothing.”

“Merlin, you’ve caught me at a rare, emotional moment. Tomorrow I’ll be back to punching you like a knight,” Arthur was relieved to see Merlin smile at that. “Now’s your chance.”

“I just...” Merlin looked around the room, still grinning despite his tears; it was that desperate smile Arthur had only seen a handful of times. “I should’ve done something. Stopped this.”

“What?” Arthur frowned, and it took a lot of effort to hold back the incredulous look he wanted to give Merlin. “This isn’t anything to do with you, Merlin.”

“But it could’ve been!” The suddenness with which Merlin turned to stare at Arthur was startling. His eyes were so intense, he looked as though he were imploring Arthur to understand something he wasn’t saying; something he didn’t  _want_  to say.

All Arthur could offer him was a confused look, so Merlin continued, the colour slowly draining from his face. “Back when your father was still king and Morgana was here, there were things I should’ve told you. Arthur, you and Gwen, it made me--”

“Yes?”

“You were pursuing a  _servant_ , I--”

Referring to Guinevere as a servant around Arthur was never a good idea.

“Spit it out, Merlin!” he snapped, not as harshly as usual, but with a bit of bite.

“Why wasn’t that servant me?”

Silence. A lot of silence. Arthur stared at Merlin, then at the blankets, then at the ceiling, then back at Merlin again. The question didn’t make sense, was he really saying what it sounded like? That he’d wanted... That he’d _loved_...?

“You?” Arthur croaked, too surprised to care that his voice was cracking.

Merlin just looked at him. His expression was so sad, so resigned, as if he’d known this was how Arthur would react. It seemed like Arthur was disappointing him and living up to his expectations at the same time.

“Merlin...” Arthur started again, but Merlin looked away from him, eyes glistening with tears, and his voice faded away into nothing.

“I just thought,” Merlin told the wall, “if I’d said something then, you might’ve-- Things might’ve been different. You and Gwen might not have become...” tearful blue eyes met Arthur’s again. “You might not have become this.”

Arthur stared at Merlin, his throat dry and his mind racing. It took a while for him to find the words he was looking for, “You always encouraged it.”

“Because you loved her,” Merlin said quietly. “You deserved to be happy.”

There wasn’t a sound after that. Merlin sat leaning against the headboard with stiff shoulders and Arthur was hunched over, playing with his silver ring. All those years he’d known Merlin, could this really be the truth?

After several minutes had dragged past, feeling more and more like hours, Merlin moved to leave. He slid to the edge of the bed, setting his feet on the cold floor and squinting around for his boots. He didn’t say a word.

“Merlin,” Arthur said again, weakly at first, but with increasing force when Merlin didn’t stop to look at him. “Merlin, I just lost my wife, you can’t expect me to--”

“Trust me, Arthur, this is exactly what I expected.” Merlin stooped down, tugging on his left boot, then his right, as he headed for the door.

“Don’t go,” Arthur called after him, feeling as though he was aching all over. “Please, Merlin, not like this.”

Merlin stopped with his hand on the lock. He looked back at Arthur, his jaw set, his eyes red with tears. “Why?”

For a moment, Arthur just stared back at him, searching for the reason. It was getting late, the moon was shining through the shutters and it’d been a long day. Arthur needed some time to collect himself-- he’d already watched one person walk out of his life, he couldn’t lose Merlin, too.

“Because...” he sighed, pulling himself up off the bed. “Because I’ve missed you, and I get the feeling if you leave now, you won’t come back.”

“I’m not leaving Camelot,” Merlin told him plainly. “This is my home. I’ve got too much left to do.”

“I don’t mean Camelot,” Arthur mumbled, already standing beside the door, face to face with Merlin.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. His breathing was suddenly very sharp and shallow. “What  _do_  you mean?”

Arthur reached out and grabbed Merlin’s hand. At first, he tried to pull away, but Arthur entwined their fingers, gently tugging Merlin towards him. Merlin’s face was still full of confusion. He frowned, lips parted in shock, eyes darting back and forth.

When Arthur closed his eyes and leaned forwards, he expected to feel Merlin’s lips against his. He expected a soft, cold kiss; timid, unsure, but with a tingling of hope. A tickle of more to come. He thought he’d feel Merlin’s hands on his neck. Arthur thought that maybe he’d even reach for Merlin’s waist, if the moment felt right.

Instead, Arthur felt a warm finger against his lips. He opened his eyes, seeing Merlin flushed before him, his eyes welling-up again.

“If you’re just doing this because--” Merlin began, apprehension lining his face.

“I’m not,” Arthur told him at once. “Merlin, do you really think I’d  _kiss_  you if I didn’t want to?”

It was supposed to ease the tension and remind Merlin that this was still  _Arthur_ , but it didn’t work. Merlin’s answering smile was almost imperceptible, and not for the first time, Arthur realised that sometimes light insults weren’t the way to go.

“Look, Merlin,” Arthur tried again, moving backwards slightly. “I’m a bit surprised, but I want this, okay? I swear.”

“I don’t want to be...” Merlin hesitated, looking Arthur up and down. “Gwen  _just_  left, Arthur. You can’t expect me to take this as you having a revelation. Maybe you just want a replacement.”

“I...” Arthur wanted to contradict Merlin, but the words stuck in his throat. His head and his heart had never felt this tangled. There was another awful silence before Arthur managed to croak out something close to the truth.

“When I look at you, Merlin, I see myself.”

Merlin frowned, his eyes flicking back and forth between Arthur’s. He clearly hadn’t taken that the way he was supposed to.

“I mean,” Arthur stumbled over his words in an effort to explain before Merlin tried to leave again. “I mean when I looked at Guinevere, I saw  _her_ \-- her dress, her curtsey, her smile,” it took all of Arthur’s self-control not to dwell on that smile, those eyes, that long dark hair, “but when I look at  _you_ , it feels like looking at myself. It’s like...”

Arthur trailed off, distracted by the way Merlin’s frown lifted. He was gazing intently at Arthur, hanging onto his every word.

“It’s like I really  _know_  you,” Arthur finished. “Like we’re two halves... Or something.”

Merlin’s eyes skated up and down Arthur’s face for a long while. His dark hair was ruffled and the moonlight reflected off his pale skin in soft patterns. The shadow of a smile lingered on his lips, or so Arthur thought. A prickling feeling tickled up Arthur’s spine. The silence was deafening.

“I know what you mean,” Merlin murmured at last, sending a light wave of relief through Arthur. “We do sort of...”

“Belong?” Arthur filled in, hopefully.

“Yeah.” A grin spread across Merlin’s face and his eyes glinted in the dim light.

Arthur’s shoulders sagged as he released tension he hadn’t known he was feeling. He sidled forward again, closing the gap between their chests and brushing his fingers along Merlin’s hand. With shallow breaths, Arthur leaned in, rubbing their noses together and closing his eyes, waiting for a kiss he was sure would come.

It didn’t come. Instead, all Arthur felt was a huff of breath against his lips. He cracked one eye open to see Merlin grinning at him, perhaps a little exasperated, but amused nonetheless. He hadn’t moved away from Arthur this time, but he clearly wasn’t going to move closer, either.

“Uhm,” Arthur smiled sarcastically, pulling back slightly, “you know this is kind of a two-man job, right, Merlin?”

Merlin tilted his head to the side, his smile warm and his eyes calculating. “I know,” he sighed, “but it’s probably best if we wait a little bit.”

Arthur said nothing.

“Just until it’s, you know, about  _us_ , not about Gwen,” Merlin explained, still smiling a little.

“Okay,” Arthur nodded, playing with his silver ring. “Alright.”

“Wow,” Merlin muttered, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve never seen you so agreeable.”

“Shut up,” Arthur mumbled, trying not to grin. “Come on.”

He grabbed Merlin’s hand more roughly and led him back to the bed. They didn’t have to kiss or touch or confess undying love, but they  _did_  have to sleep, and Merlin wasn’t permitted to leave this time.

In silence, Merlin tugged off his boots and jacket. When he turned around, Arthur was already safely under the blankets. He pulled a corner down next to him, ready for Merlin to climb in.

“Just stay here tonight,” Arthur told him as he wriggled under the blankets. It was supposed to be an order, but it was too soft-- it sounded more like Arthur  _asking nicely_.

“I’ll still be here in the morning, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “I promise.”


End file.
